Running With the Wolves
by Valexian rose
Summary: Tris is a rogue wolf, but she doesn't know that yet. Her canine blood has been dormant since her great grandmother was alive, and when three men try to kidnap and kill her she awakens. Suddenly her quiet life is flipped upside down, smells are colors and she can hear conversations streets away, and for some strange reason, her coworker Four wont stop staring at her.
1. Runaway

He sighs, looking up at me from the wet grass and heavy dark mud. The rain is coming down in a much softer drizzle, beating down on my black umbrella, no longer spraying onto my flushed face. My footsteps are uneven in this mush, and I would have cared about Christinas reaction to letting me borrow her black shoes, but right now, I couldn't care less. Again the sigh leaves his lips, and he fumbles into his pocket for a square package, his slate green eyes narrowing as he pulls out a lighter alongside a white and blue box. His bronze and brown hair is sticking to his lined forehead due to the rain, and his eyes host dark circles. The grey and purple indentations looking like bruises on his pale skin, I watch as he pulls out a neatly wrapped white and orange cylinder. He stares at it for a moment before grimacing and putting the cigarette between his lips, and zipping the lighters metal together, creating that quick snap and spark as a small flame is born. I let out a miserable huff of a laugh, my brother raises his eyebrow at me and draws in a puff, pulling it from his lips before offering it to me. I feel my eyes narrow, "I thought you quit," I say,

"You don't want it?" He asks looking offended,

"And aren't you a doctor?" I fight, "And what the fuck? Smoking at their funeral?" He glares at me as he puts the butt back in his mouth, fingers holding it captive as he robs the fumes from the nicotine packed killer. I scowl at him and suddenly he puffs the smoke out, glaring at me and snapping the strings holding us together, "No one is fucking here Beatrice, it doesn't matter,"

"No no, you're right," I agree sarcastically, "They only died together in a fire, you know, choked on the smoke that turned their lungs black and killed their brains before the fire started getting to them," I say to him quickly, turning away from him and his toxic cloud of misery, "Beatrice!" He yells, I don't listen, and somewhere along the way from the burial sight and my brother I lost my umbrella, and the rain has picked back up. The world looks grey and dark and miserable, and this rain is oddly cold for the end of spring. My blonde hair sticks to my back and neck, and my shoes are having a hard time with this dirt, a frustrated yelp leaves my lips as I stumble onto the street towards my black car.

Now that I'm in the shelter of my old Mitsubishi, I register the stinging in my eyes and it only takes a second for me to understand that I'm crying, again for probably the hundredth time this week. Hard to believe that the woman who would comb my hair and sing to me is dead, and the man who tossed me onto his shoulders in the fair grounds so I could get a better look at the world was eaten up by a fire with her. My fingers grip on my steering wheel tightens and I wince as my nails are pushed back into the beds of my fingers, I feel like screaming. Like sobbing, like those heavy earth shattering cries that your neighbors can hear, like the kind your mom would run up to you and hold you as you ruin her robe. But instead of doing that, I shiver and look out my window at the figure of my brother, who is too alone, who is too ignorant and intelligent at the same time to find a way to make a home for himself in someone else.

My fingers hook around the handle and then I'm out in the rain again, walking back over to him slower. Letting the rain ruin my clothes and hair, not that I cared much about it when my mind is still having trouble believing the truth of my parents demise. He drops his cigarette and stomps it out, smothering it in mud and grass, slowly I reach out and lace my fingers with his like we used to when we were kids. "Hey," I say, he looks over at me, and he doesn't look angry, doesn't look shocked that I came back, he just looks, sad. His fingers are like ice against my palms and wrists but I squeeze tighter, "Hey," He says back.

"What are you going to do?" I ask him. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me, and then suddenly his other hand pulls me closer to him and he hugs me tight to his body. His suit has long been soaked through, and smelling of his cologne and cigarette smoke. "Caleb?" I ask him, nails gripping at his dress coat, he nods against my neck and shoulder. "I'm not coming back here, to this house, to their grave,"

"I know,"

"Are you?" I ask him,

"I think, I'm going to visit with the Blacks, they've always been hospitable," I nod against him, squeezing tighter and fighting the tears. Then I pull away from him, instantly I miss his heat and his familiarity. He looks at me wearily as I give him a sad smile, "Take care Caleb," My fingers squeeze his hand, and he faintly squeezes back, nodding to me but not looking at me. He's staring at the flowers set over the overturned dirt. "Bye, Beatrice," He says, and then I brush past him, pulling his hand making him turn and look at me before I leave. The last time I saw my parents was over a month ago, I don't want this to be the last time I see my brother.

 **So! I will say welcome to the new story, the idea blew up on me while I was at a bar in Florida, I fell in love with it, but couldn't type it out due to lack of internet, the hotel fiasco was crazy. The power was out the first night I was there and the internet was out the entire week. Sucked. Only thing I can say I liked about Florida, was the music, and perhaps the beach. Anyway! Tell me what you think. The titles of each chapter will be song titles by a woman named Aurora.**


	2. In Boxes

The floor is cold, so is the room, so much that I swear I can almost see my breath. This is a strange occurrence at the end of springtime, even though the rain here is as cold and heavy as frozen knives clattering to the ground. Now I'm sitting here staring at my open window with malice, upset that there is no warmth that a sunless morning can give me. Is this what it's supposed to feel like? Loss? The loss of my parents? It's been a week since the funeral, and for some reason I can't get it out of my head. I clench my fists, letting my nails dig into to bed of my palms, I feel incredibly empty, lonely, just sad. With a sigh I get to my feet, enjoying the feel of the carpet under me.

My fingers snag my phone and I make my way to my kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. Just as I'm spinning the cap off the top my phone buzzes, "There's blood on your lies, Disguised up and wide- there is nowhere for you to hide, the haunting moon is shining, I'm run-" My finger swipes the screen and I lift it to my ear, "Hello?"

"Hey Tris!"

"Christina, oh fuck I'm sorry I forgot about your shoes," I say, the words slipping from me to distract me from the week of depression I'm digging myself out of. Instantly I bite my lip, to keep from telling her what has happened, I don't want her to pity me, and I don't want to talk about it. "Oh, it's fine, what did you need them for?" She chirps through the line,

"Job interview," I lie easily,

"Oh my God, I should have known, sick of retail aren't you?"

"Something like that," I say, allowing a smile to grace my lips. The first smile I've had on my face in over a week, Christina just has that bubbly personality, where she doesn't care about the terrible, and she has this gift to see the good in people. Part of the reason I got along with her. "Well, I think that interview might come in handy, Tiffany is going to kill you when you get here,"

"Why?"

"Your leave to see your brother went unmarked on the calendar," I pause, putting down my iced water,

"What?"

"Yeah, gone for almost eight days now and it's all unmarked,"

"But I took it up with her personally!" I declare, annoyance seeping into my voice.

"I don't know, but whatever it was that you had to do I hope it was worth it, she's stirring up a storm looking for you, get here soon yeah?"

"Yeah, see you soon," I say to her, ending the call and staring at my phone. Already anticipating the rush of fury that instantly hits me after the call. My hands slam down on the counter and I spit profanities at Tiffany and at Caleb, at life. It takes me a silent minute before I realize how bad my hands sting, with a sigh I'm stalking through my house towards my room and my shower. Thankfully, when I was young my brother convinced me that taking shorter showers built character, that was only partially true, it was just a habit to get into to be water savvy, now I can be proud to say I only take five to ten minute showers.

When I'm out I grab normal atrie because technically my uniform requirement is a grey shirt and nametag. Pulling grey cargo pants and a light grey t-shirt, I slip on a grey beanie and ignore my wet hair. It always dried fast, so there's no harm in leaving it wet. Quickly I pull on my converse and grab my keys, wallet, and phone.

I'm out the door in record time and in my sleek black car, I love the way the engine tumbles and sputters to life. As per habit I roll down my window and breathe in the city air, taking in the ashy smell of pre rain storm. It would no doubt storm again tonight, even though the streets are still black and slick from the rain last night. The smell of wet pavement isn't unwelcome, but it's as strong as ever and when I see the construction I know why. My lips purse when I come up to the building I work at, it's nothing special, just like any clothing store you'd come across it's bleak on the outside save for the sign, but even that could use some work.

After parking and rushing inside to save my bestfriend I focus, taking in the perfumed smell of the Forever 21 store, the new clothing smell still drifts to my nose despite the overlay of expensive crystalisk bottles being emptied into the air. My hands clench and I stalk further into the store, ignoring the questioning glances of other coworkers, I whip right down the aisle to the back office, my hand closes around the colt metal handle and I shove open the door. Aggressive words on my tongue when my boss is in sight.

Like always she sits pretty behind her desk filing her nails and pouting her overdone cherry lipsticked lips at her handiwork. When the door slams into the wall at my barging in, she looks up, batting her mascaraed eyelashes at me before grinning slyly, "Tris," She purrs, the corners of her lips curling up too much for my taste, "Have a seat,"

"I'll stand, thank you," I nearly growl at her, "I understand my leave was erased from the work calendar?"

"Yes, you left for six days?" She rolls her eyes at me, feelings mutual bitch.

"Eight," I correct, she glances up at me eyes hardening into a glare like I just made her job harder, "Eight days," She quips, turning and typing into the computer, pulling open a document of our working schedules, my feet take me around the desk so I can watch what she's doing. "Yep," She says, "There's no entry of your leave,"

"Okay," I respond, "But I took it up with you personally,"

"Oh you did?" Her eyebrows raise at me, "That's weird, I don't seem to remember,"

"Are you trying to get me fired?" I scoff at her,

"I'm sorry? What did you accuse me of?" She squeals,

"Nothing," I say in a hard line, anger creeping into my veins and mixing with my blood, "I wasn't accusing you of anything, I asked if you were trying to get me fired. Because last time I checked, there's a thing called cameras and one is located in your room, I talked to you. And you know it, and you pulling this on me isn't fair, I could file for a lawsuit, do you want to be taken to court?" I snap at her, feeling like bucking at her and scaring her, I want to see if she finally get's it. "I'll get someone to look at the footage if it will make you feel better," She says, as if she's dealing with a kid. "Thank you," I sigh, turning on heel and reaching for the door knob. Then I hear her mumble, "Jesus, bitch much?" My feet whirl around in a second, my blood boiling as I slam my hand on the desk, making her jump out of her seat, "My parent's fucking died, that's why I took a leave you cunt so if you've got a problem with me attending their funeral not too long ago, then go fuck yourself," I pull away from the situation, turning for the door and storming for it, "Fire me if you want to, I don't care," The door swings open and I walk out, slamming it shut behind me and seeing that our conversation was not just between us.

Half of the staff stare at me with either bewilderment or shock, in the middle of all of them stands Christina, eyes wide with shock. As always she reacts before everyone else, "What is this? Jerry Springer? Get back to work it's none of your business," She shoos everyone off, hands on her hips and tilting her head, glaring at them. Then she turns to me, her brown curls bouncing in her loose bun as she walks over to me. Then her hand is on my arm and we're heading outside. Normally I wouldn't be so compliant to let someone touch me, let alone lead me anywhere, but when we are outside I don't regret it. Her hands work deftly as she pulls out a pen and slip of paper, writing something down quickly, "She's going to get you fired, I can put in my good word for you and work my magic, but I would start looking for another job, hope that interview works out for you," She hands me the slip of paper and looks at me, her hazel eyes filled with concern and slight annoyance. "You didn't go to an interview, did you?"

"No," I admit, "I was at a funeral, my parents," I tell her, she stares at me for a few moments before sighing and pulling me into a hug. She doesn't say she's sorry for my loss, she doesn't ask if I'm okay, because I'm obviously not. She doesn't try to comfort me like I'm a fragile thing in her arms. Instead she scolds me, "Don't ever lie to me again," She pulls away and holds me at arm's length, her brows are furrowed in frustration, "Yes ma'am," I say, grinning at her, as Christina wouldn't every get truly mad at me, she's not that type of person. She rolls her eyes at me, a smile breaking out on her own face, "Take a look at that address I wrote down, I've got a friend who works there and he might be able to help you,"

"Thank you,"

"Oh hush, get out of here, take a break," Christina says to me, "Do some shopping or something,"

"Right," I say to her with a smirk. Hugging her one more time, "I'll give you a call later," And then I'm slipping away from her, away from her mocha skin and soft smiles. Away from her giggles to shove myself into seclusion, to mope away the life given to me by those who lost theirs. My car is cold on the inside, but I welcome the feeling, it's better than my anger. My fingers grip the steering wheel before I slide the key into the ignition, starting the engine and staring out the window, before shifting the car into gear and driving back home.

 **I'm going to be honest, I thought I posted the second chapter... sorry c:**


	3. 5-4-3-2-1

The sun is setting, or beginning to as I stare at the orange tinted building in front of me. The windows alone reflect enough light to nearly blind me and I worry in the back of my skull about the drivers speeding past me. The music from inside only slips out through cracks in the walls and whenever someone opens the door to the place. The multi colored lights blasting onto the concrete in shades of reds and blues. Alcohol isn't the strongest lingering smell yet, because it's only 7 at night. My fingers grip the small slip of paper with blue pen scribbled on it in Christina's illegible handwriting. She had told me to go here, to a bar, of all places after Tiffany laid me off. A rough and heavy sigh falls from my lips and I dare to take a few steps forward, enough to gain the attention of the bouncer, who is all muscles and little man. He stands up straighter, jutting out his chin and crossing his arms up over his chest. If it was any other day I would jest with him and poke little fun at the size of his pecs and biceps. But it is not any other day, and I need a job.

Now I'm standing patiently in front of him, taking in how tall he is, how small he makes me feel physically. "21 and older tonight, can I have an ID?"

"Yep," I say, pulling out my wallet and flipping it open, showing him my ID, "Is it always this busy?" I ask him, he cracks a smile at me while checking my card. His teeth are impossibly white and straight, and his lips curl almost too much, like a wicked grin without malice. "Only on Fridays and weekends," He glances up at me, his eyes a warm brown color, "You been here before?"

"I need a job," I admit, "And I don't drink, so I have not,"

"We might be hiring, talk to Four, he'll help you out,"

"Alright, cool. Thank you…" I trail off looking up at him,

"Al, short for Albert," He introduces, holding out his hand to me. Out of politeness I shake it, finding his grasp to be surprisingly gentle. "Tris," I say, letting go and walking by him, sticking my wallet in my back pocket. When the door shuts behind me the music fills my ears, the steady beat of R&B music pounding to my very soul shaking me and the walls with the drop of the bass. My eyes scan the crowd for the bar, and I find it just across the way from me, the lights changing from one cool color to the next, painting the bottles various shades of blues, purples and greens. The liquor smell doesn't reach me until my fingers touch the polished and smoothed wood of the bar. It's a mix of cinnamon and cologne on ice. Strange combination, but it burns the back of my throat when I inhale too deep.

The woman next to me I can tell is starting to have a little too much to drink, as she's wriggling in her bar stool like she's about to piss herself. And when she bumps into me and spills her electric blue martini all over herself she turns and tosses a dirty sneer at me. I grin, baring my teeth and lifting one corner of my lips higher, like a dog growling at a trespasser. She turns away from me quickly, excusing herself to the restroom as the potty dance may have been sped up by me, or she didn't want her clothes to reek of alcohol as much as she already did. A voice pulls me from watching her, it's near a shout but a few octaves under it, an attentive grab in the form of vocals, I turn to the bartender trying to get my attention and stop. I feel my lips part slightly and my eyes widen a fraction.

He, is an incredibly handsome, incredibly sexy man, leaning over the counter crossing his forearms on the wood, long fingers resting on the polished surface, reflecting some of his form. He's dressed in all black, and the shirt he wears hugs his chest, shoulders and arms perfectly. So much that if I had liked drinking I would be drooling and begging for his number. His jaw is strong and chiseled, dark stubble lined his tanned skin along his chin and jaw, but above his top lip and his sideburns were clean-shaven. His hair was a dark brown almost black color, and his lips were half full, half not, giving the impression of pouting. His nose is hooked at the bottom and I'm almost finished drooling over this man until I meet his eyes.

The contact is like nothing I've ever felt before, it roots me to the spot and the loud music threatening to blow my eardrums falls into a muffled bleary state and then silences, my heart skips one moment and my veins ignite into a slow burn. The color of his eyes are a mystery in themselves, they are this dark deep blue, like the bottom of the ocean before plunging deep into an abyss. A sleeping, dreaming, waiting color, that hosts only one splash of lighter blue in his left eye.

It is when he smirks and raises a dark eyebrow at me that I realize I've been ogling this stranger for entirely too long, long enough for it to be awkward. And it's realization that causes me to stutter, something I haven't done for six years, "H- Hi, I'm looking for, uhm a person named Four? Do you know where I can find him?" His smile grows and he leans away from me and the counter, "I might, want something to drink?" He dodges,

"I don't drink," I tell him,

"Funny, what are you doing in a bar then?" He says louder as the music picks up again, I huff to myself before leaning against the bar, "The guard out front said to talk to him about a job,"

"You want a job?" He asks, flashing white straight teeth at me, my eyes catch the glint off his sharper k-nines, and something deep in me stris at the sight and I bite my lip, nodding at him. For a moment he looks me up and down, his eyes glazing over with something indescript, something I don't have a word for, before his gaze snaps up to mine, he smirks at me before jerking his head over to the end of the bar. Taking the hint I turn on heel and squeeze through the drink dancing crowd, the thick smell of perspiration and alcohol dousing my nose. Wrinkling at the smell I turn and try to maneuver through to where I see the bartender. He's eyeing me intently through the crowd, eyes locked onto mine, and even when I lose sight of him and find him again he's still looking at me.

Bodies brush mine and press me against others, hands touch my clothes and suddenly my breath falls short, this much contact sparking my minor Aphephobia, my muscles tense against their will and a shrill sense of panic shoots through my chest. A scream is on my tongue right when a hand closes around my wrist, I'm pulled from the crowd and into my own space so suddenly I can feel my body start to tremble. The hand grips my wrist harder and my instant reaction is to pull away, so I do, in fact I jerk from the hold so hard my back slams against the wall. My eyes accusingly search for my former captor, they land on the bartender, who is staring at me with an unreadable expression.

My mind runs away and distracts itself with the thought of how he could pass for a statue, his face is intense and his gaze even more so. Currently it's trained on my face, and for a moment I'm convinced he seeks to set me aflame, so fearing sudden combustion, I jut out my chin and set my shoulders returning his gaze. It's over in a second however because he opens a door right next to him, "His desk is just down the hall," Cautiously but quickly I walk in, allowing him to follow me and close the door behind us. The music is dulled to a soft mumble through the door and the corridor is silent. It's dimly lit in a black light, my converse laces seem to glow a soft blue, and the walls look black.

My hand touches the wall beside me and I'm about to turn around and tell him to lead the way when he speaks, "Walk forward," I do as he says, letting my eyes adjust to the change in lighting. In the back of my mind I register how deep his voice is now compared to when he was nearly yelling over the music. Part of me wants to turn around and feel his chest rumble when he talks, the other part of me, the much bigger part acknowledges how bad I'm still shaking. "Stop," He says, and so I do. My feet plant awkwardly on the ground and I turn to look at him.

He's still staring at me with that strange haze over his eyes, and then suddenly I understand he's studying me. "Open it, that's his office," He says to me, blinking once slowly, the bottoms of his teeth incredibly white in the dark of this hall. Cautiously, feeling like I'm invading his space, I knock on the door before opening it. The bartender follows me into the room after I'm a few steps inside, then the door shuts and I turn to look at the bartender, watching as he flips on the lightswitch. As soon as the room is brightened my eyes fly to the desk at the back of the room, finding it empty.

Confusion washes over me and I step forward a few times, the room itself is incredibly tidy, no papers are strewn across the desk, no filing cabinets are out of order, and everything seems to be in its exact place. The bartender slips past me and walks around the desk, his strides long, and silent. Then suddenly he falls into the black leather rolling office chair and leans back, looking over at me with a bored expression, "So, what are you looking to get a job here as?"

"You're Four?" I ask, walking up to the desk,

"The one and only," He says with a smirk,

"And you couldn't have told me this because?" My voice is just short of annoyed, my hands gesture around me like the room has the answer. He merely shrugs at me, "I needed to stop by here anyway, one of my waitresses is about to get off work, and we're already short a man,"

"So, no resume needed?" I ask, shaking my head in disbelief, "You're just going to send me to work?" He stares at me a moment, his expression shifting from laid back ease to schooled and taught features, then he speaks, voice bouncing off the walls to my very core, "Do you drink?"

"No,"

"Are you good with time?"

"Relatively,"

"How about memory?"

"Great," I say,

"Will that episode happen again?"

"Excuse me?" I ask him, taken aback by his abruptness,

"On the dance floor, you started to break down into a panic, I can't have that in my bar. Will it happen again?"

"I don't like being touched," I mumble,

"This job requires you to maneuver through crowds, if you can't do that, I'm afraid I can't hire you," He states, leaning forward in his chair, staring up a storm at me. My lips press into a thin line, and my teeth sink down on my bottom lip, my eyes averted from him. I need this. The cold air of the room clings to my bare finger tips, and his stare isn't helping matters much. Then my mind snaps to my best friend, and to the slip of paper she gave to me, my fingers whip to my wallet and I slip the paper to Four, "I was directed here, and told to ask for one person in particular," Four stares at me before he lets his eyes snap to the paper. Anxiety slowly starts to gnaw at me in this intense silence, until his hand shifts and he presses something under his desk with a soft click.

The door to his office opens a minute later and a man walks in, he has dark skin, dark hair, dark cloths, but strange eyes. They're half an icy blue color, and half dark brown. The employee shoots me a look, one that tells me he's seen more than his fair share of women, and that I was no different. Careless personality. He speaks, his voice higher than I thought it would be, "You wanted to see me?"

"Do you know this girl?" Four asks, gesturing to me with a tilt of his head. My nerves burning at the prospect of being talked about but not addressed. Still, my teeth sink into the side of my tongue and cheek as they continue to exchange words, "I've seen her around, why? Is she in some kind of trouble?" He asks, eyeing me with a fond and amused expression.

"She wants a job,"

"Oh," He says, eyebrows twitching as he turns to me, "You're Christinas friend, you were fired right? Got in a fight with your boss?" My skin ignites and my face grows warm at his words. Christina's got a loud mouth, if she were here now, I would slap her. Gritting my teeth and blinking slowly, I reply, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Four, "Yes, that's me," Four shoots me a smirk when I dare to look at him, and my "friend" has a devilish look on his face. Oohh if I could just- "Uriah, take her out for a trial run," He looks over at me, a serious look in his eye, "I'll give you a call tomorrow regarding your employment status," And just like that, his smirk is the last thing I see as the door closes, leaving me in a mellow hallway of black and muffled club music, my heart racing to the beat. My breath caught in my throat as I blink, confused. Had he really done that for me?

 **'Running With the Wolves' and 'She Knows' will be my two main stories for Divergent for a while. But on this note, I'd like to apologize for not posing much of anything this last week or so, as I have moved half way across a country within the last three days, and it takes longer than that to pack the entirety of your house into a few boxes. But! That was the reason for the delay, I'm back now, with a few stories up my sleeve, looking to complete some of the easier ones first.**

 **'She Knows' is a much longer developing story, with a slow burn of Eric/Tris paring, therefore will have many more chapters than 'Unsteady' or 'One Kiss'.. 'Running With the Wolves' is also a longer developing plot, though the chapters are much shorter and quicker, there is much to touch base on with this story. And instead of Eric/Tris parings, there will be the original pairings, including Four/Tris, as well as included OC characters vital for the plot line. But there you go, an over all explanation.**

 **Again, music/title credits go to miss Aurora.**


	4. Murder Song

Flashing lights and pumping bodies, laughter, screaming in excitement people danced and ground and wiggled in the bar dance floor, the bass beating hard against the walls and ceiling, scraping against the few windows and reaching the bar behind me. I wove my way through the crowd, spinning my feet, breath light, the world spinning before my eyes, lights of blue, green, red, and purple flashing through my eyelids, I was thankful for my mascara. They acted as blinds to the bright flashing colors. I was at the table, a pad and pen in my hand and a pulled tight smile on my lips. I'd worked at a restaurant before but a bar was something new, so when two faces of men stared back at me disapproving but ogling me at the same time I was slightly surprised. I didn't have a name tag, and I was given the apron of the girl that was ending her shift, no doubt my grey pants and grey everything is calling some negative attention, the light contrasting with the dark bodies behind me.

My tongue swiped my lips and I pushed the laughter and the loud music to the back of my mind, bringing forth a white area for me to breach, "Hi, my name is Tris, I'll be your waitress for the night, can I get any drinks for you, gentlemen?" One of them, the dark haired man with serpentine eyes leans forward, tapping his nails on the black table, "Yeah can I get a Modelo Negro?"

"Glass or bottle?" I asked him, writing it down on tab,

"Bottle is fine," He replied,

"Great," I nod to him, speaking a bit louder before looking at the strawberry haired man next to him, who seems to be staring at me a bit too hard for him to be sober, then he grins at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable and says, "I'll have a Jager bomb," I nod to him and write it down, "Would you like to get anything to eat while you're here or just the drinks?" I ask them, my eyes flicking back and forth between the two as they exchange looks, then the dark haired man shakes his head, "Just the drinks, could you open a tab?"

"Yes, under what name?"

"Peter," He says, eyeing me as I write it down, my wrist flicking easily to accommodate my style. I take one last glance to them, smiling and nodding before walking around to each of the tables toward the bar, watching as a woman in a short black dress steals the "cage" or so they call it, in the center of the floor, her hands gripping the steel bars before her as her body shakes and sways, her hips doing things she ought not to be doing in public, but she might be drunk, who am I to care, it's not me up there. Trying to avoid flying elbows or getting stepped on again, I wriggle to the bar, where Uriah is finishing up serving a man who asked for a top shelf drink. I wait for Uriah to finish before walking around behind the counter and creating an order for Peter. Uriah shoots me a smirk as he leans in close, his hand landing on my hip and his nose brushing my jaw, "You're doing great girl, keep it up," I smile at him and nod, popping open the Modelo and letting Uriah pass me the shot of Jager. I then list of a few refill drinks that people asked me to get for them in my journey back to the bar, and he complies, flipping the shaker and twirling glasses, garnishing some and even slathering honey on the rim of one glass.

The night continues as such, me making trips back and forth to the bar and tables, checking up on people at the tables every 5 minutes. Quickly though, after it gets wilder and into the later hours of the bar, Peter and his friend haven't left yet, and they keep ordering drinks. Their tab will be a bitch to pay. Eventually, around 1 they end up leaving, and splitting the bill, which was fine with me but I didn't know how they'd get safely home. It wasn't my business, anyway, so it shouldn't matter. I know there's a cut off for drink service if you don't drink responsibly, but I wasn't told what it is.

Uriah finds me again, behind the glowing bar and serving a few beers from tap and supplying waters to those who look like they really need it. He looked tired, even with his dark skin I could see the bags under his eyes and the weariness in his steps. He came to a halt beside me, grabbing a cloth from the sink in front of him and wiping down the counter, "So, whatcha think?"

"Of what? This?" I ask, gesturing to the still raving dance floor, girls now sharing the "cage" and performing rather erotic dances together and on each other, their dresses riding up and their hair flipping as they jump and run their hands back through the blonde locks. Uriah takes one look at what they're doing before grinning and looking at my face again, his smile only widening. He nods to me, awaiting my words of praise, "Well, it keeps me on my toes,"

"Way different from retail I bet?" He asks me, reaching around my small body to fill up a pop for a woman at the bar, I nod and lean away from him, slightly uncomfortable with being trapped between him and a counter, when he is easily a few inches taller than I. Then I speak to ease my nerves as his hand brushes my shoulder, "I said it kept me busy, I didn't say it was any less crazy. There are some serious psycho bitch moms out there," Uriah chuckles low in my ear, and I nearly recoil when he brushes his lips to my ear, "I'd love to grab a table and chat about it Tris," My breath halts in my throat, he's really openly flirting with me, in a bar, and offering to grab a table. My mind snapped, and discomfort invaded my body, making me speak in a strange manner that I haven't used as a defense, "While I'm sure you'd enjoy that, I wouldn't just yet, perhaps you should work on your introductory skills, and try more subtle moves next time," My lips pull into a tight smile and I'm walking away from the bar and to a girl who is waving at me, grabbing my attention.

Thankfully, the night continued without any other uncomfortable occurrences, and the floor cleared out around 2:30. My feet felt numb but awake and every step I took was like stepping on a bed of nails, my legs were tight and sore and burning and my head throbbed with a dull headache, I was mildly aware that my hair was a hot mess of frizz and loose locks, and that I must have looked tired. Uriah wasn't at the bar when I checked in, instead it was my boss, who still made me feel warm but now I was more cautious of how I acted around him.

I watched as his eyes gave me a once over and a small smirk pulled at his lips, his brows knitting a bit before he spoke to me, his hands switching off the changing lights to the bar, "Tired yet?"

"You kidding me? I could do this all day," I mutter sarcastically, closing tabs and swiping a few cards before feeling my eyes widen as he chuckles at me. My teeth find my lip at the deep rumbling sound, and what he was laughing at, I said the wrong thing, to my boss, out of all people. I felt like slamming my head against the screen before me because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I really need this job. I shot a wary glance at him, watching as he cleans the bar in front of him, a smirk on his face and his eyes on the task at hand. Then he replies, "Well that's interesting that you say that, Tris," My body grew warm as he said my name, and it was something about the way he said it as he looked at me, his eyes an amused blue, "This place doesn't typically stay open during daylight hours,"

"I know," I manage with a nod, trying to find something else to say when seconds before I scolded myself for speaking, my fingers gripping the debit card in my hands a bit firmer as I swiped it. "That tired huh?" He asks more soberly, I shoot him a look and type in on screen the command for paying and the amount owed. I didn't hear him move, and that might be because of the lower music still playing as the DJ brings the night to an end at 3 am, but suddenly Four is right behind me and typing in something to the screen in front of me. His arm reaching over mine and his fingers brushing my wrist before he quickly signs me out for the night. He must have established me a position earlier tonight. My eyes widened as I replayed that thought, and it made me turn and look at him.

He was dangerously close to me, but not yet touching me, just enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body to me and his soft flutters of breath on my shoulder. I drew in a breath and held it before asking him, "Did I- did you just… I got the job?" I nearly whisper, which I'm amazed he heard me from considering how loud the music still was even though it was lowered. He smiled at me and took a step back from me, holding his hand out to me for a formal handshake, my nerves shot up to my grey matter and I resisted the urge to jump up and down in excitement, quickly and in a jerky manner that I was partially shameful of, I held my hand out and shook his. Nodding to him and smiling, relief flooding through my bloodstream as he spoke, "Congratulations Tris, you got the position of in training bartender and waitress, welcome to The Guilty Mutt," It's when he nearly finishes speaking that I giggle gleefully and wrap my arms around his torso, squeezing him tight enough that he needs to squeeze my shoulder a bit and flex so I don't hurt him. It's when he does however do I realize that I'm hugging him, and I pull back quickly, grinning shyly and happily, "Thank you, sorry for hugging you, but thank you so much Four, you have no idea how much this means to me right now,"

"Well, you can make up for hugging me like that by showing up tomorrow to get your paperwork all through, and then I could set you up with a schedule," He tells me, holding a smile as well while he speaks, his eyes watching my reaction to every word,

"Yes, I will see you then," I say, about to turn before I stop myself, "Uhm, what time do you need me to be here?"

"Well, you don't have to be here specifically since you won't be working tomorrow, I could bring the paperwork somewhere else, it's not exactly fun going to your workplace when you don't have to work," he tells me, pausing and giving me time to process that before gives me a reasonable time, "10:30 good for you?"

"Yes, that's perfect," I say quickly, digging my nails into the palms of my hands to keep me from doing something weird or hugging him again. I take a breath, closing my eyes and smiling at him again, "Thank you, really so much Four,"

"Thank yourself, you got this job, not me," He says softly, touching my shoulder before looking me up and down again, eyes flicking over my shoulders and posture to my tired smiling face, "Get some rest, Tris," His voice is still soft, and the depth of it makes it a bit hard to hear, but I nod to him anyway and check for my belongings after I hang the apron in the locker room for the staff.

The cool air of the darkest and quietest hour rushes up my fingertips and arms, settling down my spine and back up to the base of my skull, making my hairs stand on end. I mutter to myself under my breath, scolding myself for not bringing a jacket as bumps rise on the surface of my skin. My eyes glance around the parking lot, catching sight of a man smoking a cigarette and a few lingering cars that must belong to the DJ, Four, the bouncer and the few people lingering in the closing bar. My hands reach back into my pocket and I fumble for my keys, my breath coming out in quickly fading puffs of white and my fingers trembling in the cold, pin pricks stabbing hot and cold into my skin. My key is just pushing into the lock when I'm ripped off my feet.

Searing hot breaches my body as a hand covers my mouth, rough and calloused as I scream through the fingers. Panic shoots through me and I squirm, jerking and grabbing at the face panting in my ear. My eyes widen before I blink some, kicking and struggling as I'm ripped off the ground again, unable to drag myself. I'm swinging fists and kicking hard when another person cloaked in black restrains my legs, fear and discomfort raging through me making me scream as loud as possible through his hand.

My teeth go to bite but then I'm dropped to the ground and I taste blood on my tongue, I scramble, then I see stars and my chest hits the ground. Blood dips past my lips and I feel oddly light, my arms are pulled and I'm being thrown into a van but the world spins and I can't figure out which way is up. Thoughts rush through me and sound comes back as doors are slammed and my wrists are restrained, suddenly I'm back in the real world and my head feels like I've been hit by a titanium bat. A sound dribbles out of me and I fall over from my all fours position as the van peels out of the lot, tires screeching and music playing. I tumble as we turn, my lips parting to scream as my back hits something hard and sharp but the hand is back, and there's another on my throat.

Serpentine green eyes catch my vision and horror washes over me as I struggle, the air being robbed of my lungs as his fingers close down on my windpipe, my fists swing in a wide arc and slam into his head. He grunts and I try to get to my feet, screaming in fury and in pain the entirety of the time while someone else yells to restrain me. I'm tacked back despite me trying to dodge, my limbs refusing to work with me as he moves on top of me. I see red and I feel only pain right then, my head exploding as though a bullet has ripped right through it, a jack hammer slamming constantly into the back of my head.

I hear screaming and feel only pain, and it rips along my body like nothing else, intense heat floods my nerve endings and something yells, something pops, there's a lot of noise and suddenly the car is spinning. I'm thrown into the wall again but it's different, tears rush out of my squeezed shut eyes but I'm vaguely aware that I'm crying, we spin, my restrains snap, glass shatters and the van swerves off the road. All I taste is blood as we slam into a tree and two men are killed.

Warmth covers my skin, draped gently over me like a blanket and silk sheets to add comfort, whatever I'm on is soft, and it lets me sink into it no matter what, cushioning me as I roll onto my back then to my other side. A gentle steady heat hits my face and my skin then, and stays there, making me hotter than I'd like and suddenly I'm sitting up and my eyes are squinting in the sunlight. My hand lifts and shields my eyes as I turn and place my feet to the ground, my lips split and chapped, and the room smelling different. My feet meet carpet, and then I become aware that I'm not where I think I am.

My eyes widen and my hand drops, there's a door, well, two doors and both are closed. Rather than the dull and soft blue grey paint of my apartment walls, a pleasant tan color covers the walls, and the doors are a slightly darker color. The floor is white carpet, and the bed I'm on has golden sheets, or seemingly a milky tan color. Did I sleep with someone? sliding my fingers along my skin I realize I'm only in my underclothes, or, someone's underclothes, I don't remember buying boy shorts, or ever wearing a big t-shirt to bed.

The silence of the room hits me like a brick, and I'm suddenly up on my feet. Bad idea, I stumble and fall to the floor, my hand gripping the bed and my breath huffing in pants. Okay, no walking. Wriggling my toes and rotating my ankles I try again, much success this time as I pad slowly to the door I think leads to a hallway, I'm pleasantly surprised to find I was right, and I walk slowly out toward what looks to be a kitchen. A living room breaks to my left, and a large brown L shaped couch faces a coffee table and a TV. My toes touch tile and I stop, pulling back a bit, the floor is a bleach white tile with marbled gold, and the counters are like tigers eye stone. A slip of paper catches my eye, and neat handwriting is revealed to me, I read it aloud to test my voice, "Make yourself at home, your keys are on the hook by the door, but I'd appreciate if you didn't leave until I get back, so no one robs me. I'll be bringing back food if you're hungry, don't get into trouble."

My body weaves around the corner, the comatose like cold air seeping into my skin and making me shiver as I reach for the cup board, guessing and searching for the glasses. The tile beneath me freezing the pads of my feet as I struggle on my toes to reach for the quarter cups. Keys jingling pulls my attention as I pull the glass down, my eyes widening before narrowing at the door, watching as the handle jerks before the door cracks open, boots hustle in quietly, hitting the tiled area at the door as the cold of the morning city air rushes into the house. Smells of wet pavement and hot asphalt reaching me before the smell of gasoline and something musky that blocks out the other smells.

The figure turns his back to me, and he's tall, but he's wearing a hood so I can't see what he looks like. His boots are off and the house door shuts, then he turns and I'm met with the face of my boss, Four, and dread washes over me. Oh, God, tell me I didn't sleep with him last night, please tell me I didn't do it. My teeth sink down on my lip as he approaches, his steps silent and strides long as he reaches me in the kitchen, standing there in socks, jeans, and a black hoodie. His hand reaches up and dispels the hood, and he's smirking at me. My fingers twitch as I catch him looking up my legs and to my face, my grip tightening on the glass in my hand ever so slightly as the thought of us in his bed hits me. I don't even know him well enough to picture that in my head, surely he wouldn't have let it happen, right?

My throat clears and I blink, turning away from him as he places the bag he was holding on the counter, and a cup of coffee. He's the one to break my silence, "I didn't know what you liked so I got you a danish from the shop not to far from here, and a cup of coffee,"

"We didn't.. I mean," I stutter, setting the glass down and turning towards him, the small of my back pressing to the counter. His eyes are curious, and his brows lift slightly, prompting me to continue. I take a breath, lungs filling with air before I mutter out, "Did we, you know, uhm,"

"What? No," Four tells me, chuckling at my flushed face and how bad I was stuttering. Unease washed over me suddenly at the look he gives me, eyes slightly narrowed and less friendly than what they were a few seconds before, the dark blue darker and his pupils dilating before he sighs and smiles at me again. My heart rate picked up and now I want nothing more than to get away from him, that look was one of pain and anger. He tilts his head, "Why don't you have a seat, we can talk, and since you're here you can fill out your papers," Modesty flashed through me like a hot needle, and shame and embarrassment colored my cheeks and skin. I wasn't even dress appropriately, I was in his clothes, unshowered and incoherent to what had happened exactly last night. If I didn't have any of that in check, how could I possibly fill out the papers in front of my boss? Frustration became my next go to, and I resisted the urge to make one of my famous outbursts in front of him as he sat idly on his couch, awaiting my presence.

I decide not to question him until I'm done with my paperwork instead, giving me some time to think about what all I want to ask. If we didn't sleep together, where are my clothes, and why am I in his house, sleeping in his bed? My hand shaking the entire time I write, making my numbers and letters morph into squiggles and my signature look messy. An hour after struggling with my pen and finishing each page carefully, Four sets them aside, his face going blank and his lips pulling into a natural frown, his eyes narrowing at me and his brows furrowing the slightest, "I suppose you're wondering how you got here?"

"Depends if you have the answer to that question," I shoot at him, my defenses polishing my skin, sharpening my mind and my tongue becoming quicker than a whip. It's in these situations that I want to curse my sometimes violent nature and over defensive mind. He smirks at me, my feistiness intriguing him. He leans back, "You had a rough trial night, a full shift and you were ready to pass out, I didn't trust you'd get home safely so I hooked up your car to my truck and took you here,"

"Where are my clothes?"

"You dropped a bottle of alcohol on them, told me you didn't want them,"

"You threw my clothes away? All of them?" I ask in disbelief, none of this seems like some of my behavior, no matter how tired I may have been. My eyes cast down to the coffee in my hands, the warm liquid filling the cup half way, still warming my hands. While his explanation explained my slight headache, it did not cover for how I acted, or why I don't remember much of it. My teeth find my lip for the millionth time as I try to piece together what flashes of last night I do remember. I remember trying to get to my car, and someone else being there. Was that Four? An uneasy feeling makes my head suddenly go light and my stomach to roll up to my lungs, my breath catches and I know something's wrong. His story makes sense, but it doesn't, that isn't me, I've always been strong enough to get home after a long day, so blacking out and having someone else- suddenly I'm on my feet and the coffee cup is falling from my grasp, images of last night clouding my thoughts.

My lips part and sounds escape me as I try to deny everything he's said, I don't know how but suddenly I'm on the floor shaking and Four is right beside me, calling my name and telling me to come back. I was abducted, I was ripped from my car and tossed into a van, two men, I served them, they did it. I was restrained, and then, then… what happened? My breath passes my lips in shaky stutters and my eyes land on his TV, "Turn it on,"

"What?"

"Turn on the TV!" I bark out, shaking and staring at it, please tell me my thoughts aren't correct, "Please," I beg him, flicking my eyes to his concerned but concentrated expression, to his eyes that seem to hold volumes of words and emotions unspoken. The TV is turned on, and he begins navigating, "To the local news," I tell him, and he dials in the channel number, the image of a woman standing on the side of the road with long black hair next to a police officer comes up, and slowly Four turns the volume up, "... Been a terrible accident here off Charles road, unlike anything we've ever seen, paramedics were called earlier this morning when the van was discovered nearly wrapped around this tree," she says, turning and pointing at it as the camera zooms in, "The emergency services were contacted, and the engine fire was contained, however, the paramedics pulled two bodies, one of which is Peter Hayes, a local college student and the older brother of two sisters, the other body has yet to be identified. I'm standing here with Officer Rheys who was one of the first to get to the site. Officer Rheys, you said earlier that you think this was an intentional wreck, did you mean that it could have been caused by another missing component and killed these two people?" She tilts the microphone towards him so that he may speak, and he does, keeping eye contact with the camera,

"Yes, brief investigation shows that these two had very little alcohol traces in them, not enough to cause an accident like this. Skid marks and dents have not been from an outside source so there was likely another person in the van that put these two in a life or death situation, and caused them to crash in such a way. A third body has not been found, but there are traces that tell there was another person involved," The camera sweeps over the accident again, the area in which the bodies were found, and a dark blood splatter on the tree and on the road by the van, something rippled through me and made me want to cry, I was right. I was at fault for the loss of those two lives, but they had kidnapped me. My body shook as I got to my feet, grabbing the attention of Four who left on the channel and followed me to the sink in the kitchen, my hand coming up to my eyes and rubbing them as my head pounded harder as I drew in a breath.

It was me, I was there, I was the cause of the accident, I knew that much, but how had I killed them both? How did I manage to make the van crash like that? A hand touched my arm and I jerked, spinning and grabbing the wrist, digging my nails into the soft flesh and glaring at the person it belonged to, "Don't touch me, please I just," I released him and put a few steps of distance between us, "Something happened to me last night, and I don't, the van, I was in that accident I know it, I caused it somehow, and I, they tried to-"

"I know, Tris, calm down,"

"You know? So you lied to me? Oh my God, two people are dead because of me! How could you not tell me that?" Panic seared into my veins and my lungs hauled in shallow bursts of air, my eyes growing wide as he got a strange look on his face and took a step toward me, "That's all you remember?" He asks me, his voice a deadly tone, "You don't remember tasting them? Ripping them apart?"

"W-what?"

"That's what you did you know, a car crash doesn't rip a man's arm off and claw his face up, doesn't rip out the neck of another," My back hit the wall and horror washed over me, I was going to be sick, what was he talking about? Was Four mental or something? "I don't-"

"You killed those two people Tris, you were attacked,"

"No, No I didn't mean to hurt anyone," I pleaded, "I wasn't anything,"

"They abducted you from the parking lot with the intention of rape and ransome-"

"Stop it!" I screamed at him, but suddenly his body was trapping me between him and the wall and he had a strange look in his eye, one that said he was afraid, but serious, "You became a wild dog Tris," He hissed in my ear, "And you had a feast out of them for revenge,"

"I said stop!" I yelled, he grunted and crashed to the floor, had I shoved him? I didn't know, but I was running for the door, grasping my keys, fumbling for the handle. I had to get away from him, he was sick, and making me disgusted with myself, my body hyperventilating and trembling, "No! Tris!" I flung the door open, and ran out barefoot into a world that backhanded me like nothing else, and pain rushed through my skull.


	5. Awakening

Tires screeched and roared, engines tumbling and people talking, yelling, my ears felt as though they were to explode, I don't think I could have screamed loud enough to vent the pain that raced through my skull like a freight train, everything was too bright, the colors of the world beating hard into my irises as though my senses being invaded by everything wasn't enough. Wet pavement filled my nose and I convulsed, collapsing to the ground as the truck down the street lurched forwards and backwards, the heat of the engine brushing my face before someone ripped me from the middle of the street. I spun, crashing into the chest of the man who saved me, tears spilling from my eyes and my legs refusing to work. Kill me, please, it's too much, I can't feel my own face.

It stops suddenly, with the slamming of a door and the twist of the lock. I'm panting and making noises I never knew I could make on his couch and am fisting my hair in my hands. My cheeks are wet and I'm lightly sobbing, my breath coming out more than my noises. My toes curl into the cushion under me, and my knees tuck harder into my chest. I can smell him now that I've got something to compare him to, it's a dark musty smell, something predatory but fresh like rain in a damp forest, smelling of the dirt and the wet wood, of the sap and of the rotting leaves and fallen dying limbs, like wet ashes. It's addicting and relaxing but strong, and his entire house smells of him, I huff through my parted lips and try to comprehend why the color of everything has changed. His house is a dark brown color, nearly black, and it's like shiny graphite dust.

Four crouches in front of me, grasping my forearms and talking to me, "Tris, hey, I need you right now, can you look at me?" His hands snake up to my cheeks, his hands warm and calloused, my eyes squeeze shut tighter and my eyebrows come together, tears rushing more, my voice a weak babble of sound, "What's happening to me?"

"Look at me please, Tris, can you do that?" He asks me gently, rubbing his thumb along my cheek, wiping away my tears and tilting my head up. After taking in several deep breaths, my eyes peel open, and land on his face, his lips are pressed together and his eyes keep me rooted and breathing, they are a deep sleeping color that keep me calm. He looks worried, and surprised, but his tone suggests otherwise, "Hey," He soothes just as my breath catches in my throat, questions and fear racing through my head. My hands grip his wrists as tears flow down again, "Why,"

"I need you to stay calm and answer a few questions okay?" I nod to him and keep breathing,

"Do you have an older sibling?"

"Yes,"

"Were you in an accident as a child that you can't remember the whole of?"

"I- what does-"

"Just," He stops me, his thumbs reaching back to my ears, "Answer the questions first and I will answer as many of yours that I can, okay?"

"No, I wasn't," I finally tell him,

"Was your sibling?"

"Not that I know of,"

"Are you still in contact with your parents?"

"They… They died a week ago in a house fire," Disappointment and sadness washes over his expression and he lets me go. He walks to the kitchen and gets me a glass of water, coming back and letting me sip on it, helping me really, as I keep trembling. Once I've managed a few sips he takes it from me and takes my hands in his, thumbs pressing between my joints at the top of my hands. He looks up at me and sighs, "Tris, I need you to trust me,"

"Why, what are you doing?"

"Seeing if I can help you, okay? But I need you to trust me," His jaw clenches for a second, before he pulls his lips into a reassuring smile. It doesn't do as much charm on me as he must hope it does though, because I get an uneasy squeamish feeling in my bowels as he covered my eyes, his thumbs pressing harder into my skin as he rubbed one area in circles, numbing my hands completely before a tugging feeling started gently and then stopped as he slowed his movements, and then he rubbed the open palm of my hands instead, and there was a needle like feeling pressing hard into the beds of my nails and I hissed about to jerk before his hands kept me still. And then he stopped touching me and my eye cover was off.

I looked at him curiously, my lips parted and fingers twitching as the feeling came back to my hands, "What did you do?"

"Start with the easier questions first," He said, but I didn't understand what he meant by that. What could be an easier question to answer? "Why did the-everything-stop once you closed the door, and what _happened_ out there?"

"Well, this is my house, I own the property and always will, so I renovated this place to be completely sound proof. When you went outside, you were unused to the noises and smells around you when I've set my house up to smell like one thing, your mind couldn't take it,"

"You keep saying smell,"

"What color am I?" He asked suddenly, handing me the glass of water,

"Your skin? A sunkissed tan-"

"No, what color am I?" He pressed, as if he were blind and he really couldn't tell, and then I understood, the haze that blanketed his house and him was what he was talking about, "If you concentrate you should be able to see it,"

"What am I concentrating on?"

"Look at my face, or the wall, your pick, either way, there should be a layer of shimmering surface in the air, much like heat rising from car hoods or asphalt on a hot day," Any other day I would have looked at him with my eyes narrowed and doubted his sanity and his own safety, but with the world crushing down on me as soon as I left this house, I was nearly prepared to believe anything. I took in a breath, my head turning to face the wall behind him, my eyes locked on his face, taking in how he studied me. Then my breath hitched as I did what he told me to, and I watched as the air around the area I looked at shimmered as though motes of metal were in the air, reflecting a bronze or oaky color. I didn't want to look at Four, I was afraid of what I might see, because his image shifted under my peripheral vision, and not in the good way.

With my eyes, I followed the path of lingering shimmering bronze color, some of it was smeared along the walls viciously, as though he literally rubbed up against the wall with his shoulder or hand. It was a strange sight, even stranger so, some of the shimmering areas turned into a muted grey color, flat instead of ever shifting and I turned to ask Four why, but his hand swiftly covered my eyes. My lips parted as his breath huffed on my cheeks as he spoke, "Ask your question,"

"Some parts are grey,"

"That's the scent fading,"

"How… How do you know all of this?"

"Ask another question," He said instead and I huffed with impatience. I was still internally freaking out, my heart jack hammering in my chest and threatening to break through, I could also hear it beating, the same way I would hear my mother's heart beat when I rested my head on her chest. I tried not to frown out of sorrow at the thought, but in fighting it, I only missed her more, wanted her here now more than ever. My mind spun, being stuck in the darkness for so long, and I reached out to steady myself, holding his wrist. My heart stuttered, but it didn't. I didn't feel my heart drop, so who- it was his. I could hear his own heart beating in his chest. I inhaled quickly and nearly stood up but his hand forced me to stay seated as it pushed on my shoulder.

I'm sure had it been anyone else covering my view and keeping me in place, while I could hear someone else's heart beat from a foot or so away as though it were right in my ear, I would have lost my cool and flipped out. But his smell invaded my senses as he mumbled in a soft voice to me, "I'm going to remove my hand now," I nodded, not really sure what he meant by the warning, my tongue thick in my mouth as the thick smell of earth and firewood was on my tastebuds, I could taste _him_.

His hand lifted from my eyes, and I stared at his chest, trying to remain calm as the murky color around the room was no longer here, or, it was, but I couldn't see it. My eyes climbed his torso, stopping on his face, locking gazes with him. I was positive he knew I was on the verge of freaking out, because he helped me to my feet and demanded of me to walk it off. Each step was shaky as I now had time to think, how had I gone from getting kidnapped to here? To my world ending before my eyes? At least everything wasn't crashing and burning. Suddenly Four was handing me a glass of water and staring at me, I took a well controlled sip much to my delight because I didn't spill all over myself.

I tried to ignore his intense gaze, his dark eyes boring hot bullet holes into my skin as I took in several deep breaths. I tried to push aside the crawling feeling my skin had, the buzzing of electricity whenever he got too close. Eventually I asked him, "So, I can't go outside,"

"Not as quickly as you did a while ago, but yes, you can,"

"So, I can leave?"

"I don't advise it," He pressed, crossing his arms over his chest and rooting me to the spot with his almost glare. Still, I fought that look he gave me when I jutted my chin up and stared him in the face, "I'll be leaving then, I need to go home," A ghost of a smile touched his lips and he stepped away from the door, almost as if he were daring me to go against his words. I bit my lip and took a few quick steps to the door, my hand falling on the handle before he clasped my wrist in his hand, I stared at him with narrowed eyes. His tone was something I couldn't place when he spoke to me, "You're surprisingly good at keeping your panic contained,"

"I dealt with my parents death very recently, I think if you've ever been through something like that, you'd know how easy it gets to keep everything inside," I nearly hissed at him, it didn't deter Four however, and the corner of his lips twitched at me, like he wanted to smirk at my behavior, "I'm just saying you're handling it better than the others did,"

"Others?" I asked, and I had fallen into his trap. My body was now more turned towards him than the door and I was suddenly pulled to the couch, he had impressive strength, and speed, I blinked and I was seated, staring at him. My stomach flipped, and I grew sick, something was very wrong with what he just did to me. My eyes narrowed, and I dared to ask him, "What _are_ you?" The grin that came onto his face could only be described as wolfish.

"Don't get so upset," He cooed, and I held back a shiver as my nails dug into the beds of my palms.

"I'm tired of playing your games,"

"Oh?" He asked, eyes lighting up with amusement,

"What is going on? I know you know, so don't pull your fucking 'ask me something else' bull shit," I spit at him, my tone firmer than what it usually was and I watched the smile falter from his face. He sighed and looked at me, observing me, and assessing something about me before he stood up. I grew wary for a second, unsure of what he was doing as he walked to the far wall before me. He faced the wall as he spoke, stipping himself of his shirt, his back covered by a vast expanse of the most intricate and beautiful design of a tattoo I'd ever seen, "Some can change upon will, others follow the cycle," I tensed up, as his hands undid his belt loudly, my body heating up. Why was he undressing? He was my freaking boss, having me sit on his couch as he stripped. My cheeks heated madly as my eyes took in how his body flexed with each movement.

He kicked away his clothes and sighed, touching the wall as he muttered something before turning around to face me. I tried to avert my eyes, but he was.. He was a fucking Greek God. My breath hitched when his eyes locked onto mine, he smirked at me, "I'm a bit different though, and so are you," My brows furrowed, what did _that_ mean? He licked his lips, laughing a bit before looking away from me, "It's okay to scream you know," And his eyes fell on me again as he finished his sentence, "I won't blame you."

I did scream, I screamed until my lungs stuttered and gave as I raced through his house away from it. I just had to get away. Fear skyrocketed through my veins and adrenaline told me to run instead of fight. I understood in the back of my mind, who in their right mind would fight _that_? I slipped, slamming into the door and cracking it off it's hinges as the door slammed into the wall, scurrying to the bathroom. I should be safe there right? I could hear it, getting closer, the sounds it gave off making me want to scream louder, but I couldn't I couldn't even scream. My lungs wouldn't let me. It was in my throat as I slammed the bathroom door, locking it and throwing myself under the sink in the cupboard. I had to hide.

I listened, covering my mouth and curling my knees tighter into my chest, almost hyperventilating through my nose as I stared at the entrance to the cupboard, looking through the crack at the door, watching the shadow of that _thing_ pass by the door, under the gap between the door and the floor. Then it snarled and slammed into the door, the wood threatening to splinter under its strength. I tried not to cry, it would hear me. It snarled and growled at the door, ramming into it again. I whimpered, or at least I think I did. I closed my eyes, I didn't want to see it if I was going to die today.

For a while the only sound was my own breathing, my own pounding heart, my own voice inside my head telling me not to think about it. The smell tickling my nose as the images fought my pleading and I watched everything unfold again. I trembled in placed as I thought about his sick grin, and how he just fucking ripped apart. The smell and horrific image of his skin literally ripping apart as though his insides were too much for the cells to handle. The sick sound of skin ripping. And then, he was gone, and his skin was burning on the ground into fucking smoke. I watched and screamed as the thing he became snapped its jaws, saliva beading and lacing its teeth, the pearls sickening me as its face contorted into one of rage. And then I was running as it lunged for me, that awful snarl filling my ears. I could actually hear its teeth snapping together as it caught only air.

My eyes snapped open as the door handle twisted, turning carefully, the lock becoming undone with a soft click. How could it do that? It didn't even have hands. I wet my lips and drew in a shaky breath, grabbing something hard and sharp next to me, satisfied with myself that I grabbed scissors of all the things I shared this space with. The door swung open, and I shut my eyes, counting to five before I burst out of the cabinet, swinging the sheers in its direction as I tried not to scream.

I was off my feet and my breath rushing from my lungs as my back slammed to the floor. The scissors colliding with the glass of the shower loudly, the crack scaring me as I struggled to summon a decent breath into my lungs. My head pounded and I felt like crying, I refused to open my eyes as I withered on the floor, if it wanted to kill me, so be it.

It took me a moment to realize that I was sitting upright, courtesy of my arms locked in resistance, and hands pulling me. My eyes flew open just as a deep inhale hit me, hands, they were hands. Four looked at me, eyes showing concern and his lips a deep frown. Four looked at me. I cried in that moment, struggling to get away from him, but I wasn't nearly as strong as he was. I felt as he pulled me to him, the fabric of my shorts making it easy for him to pull me across the tile. My face was against his chest and he was on his knees, he put his arms around me, and I sobbed like a scared child in his embrace.

 **So this chapter is much shorter than the last, but most of this one was dialogue so I didn't put as much of the story itself into this chapter. The next one will be different. Tell me what you think?**


	6. Beautiful Now

Standing in the corner of his kitchen was my best option, having the butcher's block within an arm's reach away was my only option. I already pulled a knife on him, though, I didn't really know how to use it, he didn't know that though. Since my frantic break down, I had effectively stunned him, with a slap, and escaped to the kitchen. Thankfully he redressed after he, whatever he did. After he became Four again. Still, my level of trust to him is close to non existent, and I dread every moment I catch his eyes on me, afraid that he might change into that thing again. Four has remained hospitable, and understood that I would seriously hurt him if he got close enough to me, so he kept his distance. I felt like one of those dogs you see on TV, cowering in the corner and baring it's teeth in case anyone got close, striking ferociously if someone dared to.

The thought of just running for it crossed my mind many times, and every time, I supplied for myself scenarios where my escape went south. I was used to filtering sound, now that I could concentrate on blocking out the slow thumps of his own heart beat, and the sound of his bones grinding together at the joints whenever he moved. But that was because I was so limited to the sounds that underwent inside his house, I'm sure if I ran outside in that moment it would be a repeat of earlier this morning. Then there was the matter of the street being busy and narrowly missing a car. Those thoughts in mind I stayed in my corner with my select favorite heavy handle knife just at my side, and my gaze locked on my boss.

He smirked at me, a huff of a laugh passing his lips as he turned to look at me, "I'm not going to hurt you," I scoffed,

"Right, that's what they all say,"

"Really Tris, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already,"

"You sure tried," I sneered, my eyes narrowing at him as he stood, walking around the couch and stopping at the edge of his kitchen. I avoided eye contact, knowing I would freeze up under his intense gaze. He stood straight and crossed his arms, "I like how of all the things you could attack me with, you chose scissors,"

"What- You would have picked something different?" It was almost like we were talking about tools to screw something in other than a weapon I used to defend myself against whatever he turned into. He smiled, the corners of his lips curling, it was a shy smile that said he needed a shrug to accompany it, as though he were innocent but knew something I didn't. My heart jackhammered against my rib cage and I dared to demand some answers out of him and his amused eyes, "What are you?"

"Lycanthrope, same as you, but I'm blooded, born with it not bitten," He lost me after the first word. He was a fucking werewolf? I couldn't help the mad grin that cracked onto my face, nor the bubble of laughter that had me gripping the counter, I'd never heard of someone ever declare themselves to be a mythical creature. Yet my boss apparently had the balls to do it, with a straight face. "So, next you'll tell me there are vampires and mermaids and witches roaming around the street," I said jokingly, rolling my eyes, seriously doubting my sanity in the back of my mind. But then I caught his expression and the laugh died in my throat, his lips were pressed together in a firm line and his brow was raised, "No way," I gasped, my jaw nearly dropping as he nodded to me. "How is that possible? They're all just stories,"

"I was once told that mankind has lost the capacity to construct creative ideas since the Renaissance," He said in that gruff tone of his, dropping several octaves as he took a step closer to me,

"So people saw them and told everyone about them?"

"And the stories only grew more unrealistic from there," He added, looking at the floor and then the counter beside me. Why was he telling me all of this? Oh god, what if you're not supposed to tell people this, and the penalty for this knowledge is death? My wide eyes fell onto Four, and a look of pity flashed through his eyes, and it was then replaced with sorrow and regret, "For example, silver bullets aren't real, and a shot to the heart isn't enough to kill us. Those are stories, and not all lycans transperse through the streets every full moon as savage animals. Vampires are even more stereotypical than we are," He glanced at me, eyes flicking along my face and seemingly satisfied with my attentive skills, he continued, "Nosferatu do hate the sunlight, and it is one of their only weaknesses, holy water and sharpened wooden stakes were created to supposedly protect roman catholic church goers, their minister was actually the one that fed those lies to them before he enslaved them like cattle. Most nosferatu are very religious actually, most were turned against their will,"

"You know quite a lot about all of this," I mumbled more to myself than him,

"I've had a lot of time to study," He told me offhandedly, leaning against the counter beside him. Arms crossed over his chest. I was thankful he wasn't shirtless again, I don't think I could take in all the information with him standing like that. The more that I thought about it, the more I doubted that I wasn't roofied and was given some pretty crazy drugs to have all of this happen to me. So far, everything felt real, but in my mind, I wanted nothing more than to get away from all this. To have all this thrown at me in one day was close to an overload of information and experience I wasn't ready for. But I knew that if he didn't tell me all of this now and left me hanging, I wouldn't stop asking him questions to fuel my curiosity.

Warmth pulled me from my daze of thoughts, and I blinked, his chest was very close, in fact he was cornering me. Fight was the first thing I did in reaction to the fear that sprung through my blood. The knife beside me was in my hand and flying towards him. Then he caught my wrist, and twisted. Pain shot up my arm to my shoulder, and I yelped as he drove my arm further up my back.

I struggled, shaking and jerking, swinging my other elbow back into his stomach but it was no use, he was a freakin' brick wall. I yelled out in frustration and pushed back from the counter he had me against, and he let up just enough for me to spin out of his grasp, and out of reach. And then his hands are on my forearms and he's crushing my bones in his grasp, his body slamming mine into the door I had run to. A yelp escapes me as my head slams back and I try to keep my eyes open, my first instinct is to kick, and I do, but I miss the desired area of pain.

Upon recoil he jerks me further back into the door, and when my lips part to cry out again, the sound his eaten by his lips. Everything freezes, my heart stutters in my chest and my blood boils too hot for me to feel it rush. My eyes widen on their own accord, and my breath halts in my chest. Is he kissing me? He draws back, his grip on my wrists much softer, and his eyes considerably darker. Was that his goal? To get me to still like a deer in headlights? It worked, I can't even formulate words as a response, and my limbs are like jelly. His eyes search mine for something before he tells me, "If you weren't trying to kill me I wouldn't have,"

"Well, you know, on top of all the crazy shit that's happened in the past 48 hours, why not add the immoral relationship of boss to coworker?" I manage at a whisper, he smirks at me before his eyes land on the door behind me, his expression going far away. Then he blinks, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans in and brushes his nose along my skin, the sensation makes me shiver. My mind screams at me how wrong all of this is, holding him to a knife point and running for my life before hand, and now letting him overwhelm my senses with his taste and his smell. A deep sound comes from his throat and it makes me bite my lip.

Suddenly he draws back from me like I burnt him, his brows furrowed and his lips pulled into a frown. I'm wondering what I had done when he speaks in a low voice, a threatening one, "You're the second resting lineage aren't you?" I had no idea what that meant. Until he elaborated and took a step away from me, eyes locked on my form of confusion, "No wonder your transformation was so violent,"

"My transformation? You mean-"

"You're finally getting it? You're a lycan, and a powerful one, but a rouge from a dormant bloodline, how the hell did you end up in a city like this?" He sounds like he's mostly speaking to himself, which scares me a bit, not that his actions erased all the fear of him within me. But the idea that I'm one of the things he turned into is absurd, and I want nothing to do with it. The creature he turned into was the size of a small bear, and he's saying that thing is inside of me too? Panic races through me and my breath heaves from my lungs.

Four is on me like a piranha in an australian river, his arms holding me up and taking me to the couch. My lips ramble as my mind scurries away from me, "It was real wasn't it? I really did kill them… Oh my god, oh god! I crashed the car, they all exist- there's a whole fucking world- I'm like you!" I scream suddenly and I'm consoled on the couch, the real gravity of something straight out of a movie crashes down on me, and everything I thought I knew about the world, about myself, is a lie.

Four is kneeling in front of me, frantically trying to get my attention, but my body is a husk of fear and borderline psychotic break. But then I'm chanting how much I wish none of this happened, that this isn't real. And before I know it, Four frowns sadly at me before his hands cover my eyes and the tips of his fingers press into the back of my head, and he says words that I don't understand and a cool feeling washes over me and then-

Sounds slowly filter into my ear canal, and the gravity of the earth centers me into my soft bed. Sleep tugs at my bones, willing me to further curl into my warm bed sheets. My face rubs against my soft pillow, the fabric working to root me to the mattress. My bed is my enemy, keeping me here when I have work later. A groan escapes my lips as a complaint and my eyes squeeze open as the pounding on my door only gets louder. By the third knock the person is yelling my name and I instantly know who it is, a sound of annoyance huffs from my chest as I swing my legs over the side of my bed. The cold of the floor waking me quickly as I skitter to the door.

Her fist is poised for another knock, and her face is worried. Eyebrows raised and lips pulled tight, she tears up when she see's me and shoves her way inside my apartment. I sigh and welcome her as she falls onto my couch, curling up under a blanket and holding a decorative pillow. Of course, Christina would be here at- I glance at the clock- fucking 5 in the morning. I sigh and begrudgingly make myself some coffee, making a full pot in case she decides she needs some too. With a sleep frozen face and unruly scold worthy hair, I snuggle myself on the couch beside her and put my arms around her trembling form.

It doesn't take long for her to give, and her sobs echo through my empty looking abode. Tears rush from her eyes and pour like chocolate waterfalls down her cheeks, her fingers gripping my hand tight enough to rival that of a woman giving birth. Such is the way of my friend to choke out the gory details and fatalities of her 4 month strong relationship plummet. I thought Chad was a douche poodle, anyway, but she liked him so I stayed out of it. It took me four cups of coffee and two zombie movies for my best friend to get her mind off her now Ex boyfriend who has no shame in cheating and dumping her. Now at a reasonable time in the morning, Christina is asleep on my couch, and I realize that I have to do the paperwork with Four later.

A quick shower didn't hurt, it was the kinks in my limbs that made me lag and take my sweet time. The water felt warmer than normal, and it was on the same pressure as always, I made a note to mention it to my water company. I stepped out, drying my hair quickly before wrapping my towel about me, my hand coming up to wipe away the collected steam on the mirror, my eyes catching a glint of something strange. My fingertips meet the cool mirror just as the door pounds.

A yelp passes my lips and I'm several feet away from the door now, staring at it, "Tris?" It's Christina, I didn't take that long of a shower did I? My hand closes around the door handle and I crack it open, the tired face of my friend greeting me. She smiles slightly, "I was thinking, because you've always been hospitable and have the guts to deal with me at 5 in the morning, maybe we could have an all girls day?"

"Uhm,"

"Please?" Her hands clasp together in front of her chest, eyes squeezing shut, "It's been forever, and we need to catch up,"

"Alright," I sigh, smiling at her, I never minded shopping with her, it was the dragging me through countless stores and sections that I never once considered going in. And of course, she insisted that I dressed too plain. I sighed again when she smiled at me, her eyes nearly sparkling with delight, I watched knowingly as she pulled open my dresser drawers, fingering undergarments to match before she lays it all out on my bed, comparing bra colors with shirts. She was a strange one, but I let her do what she loves. Clothes are her life, and makeup, I'm sure she'd be the woman behind the stage of a runway, painting and dressing up women to show her skill and enhance all of their natural beauty. She had a way of picking out the right hues of makeup and the most complimenting clothes that were considerably conservative. It was one of the things I loved most about her.

I pulled on the underclothes she set out for me and wandered to the kitchen, "Chris! You want to eat here or out?"

"Whatever!" She shouted back, and I rolled my eyes. Cereal it is then. That was an inside joke, I needed to go to the store. Like really badly. "Tris! Get your little ass in here!" I blushed furiously, glaring at the door as I marched over, "Okay, one Chris, I don't have a little ass, and two, what demands my attention?" She looked up at me helplessly, a small smile on her face, "I can't figure out which one would fit better, what of you run into a guy?"

"Is this what you worry about every morning when you dress yourself?"

"Well yeah," I laughed at her, watching as her eyes narrowed. "Okay, some of us actually want a fairytale love story!"

"Mhm, and he'll call you princess and ride off into the sunset with you,"

"Well," She began, eyeing the clothes before her shyly, "Not with me, per say, but on me,"

"Oh my Fuck, Christina!" I blurted, shutting my eyes as if I had seen something awful and impure. Her cackle filled the air next to me, and I knew it was the stomach holding laugh, the one that made her eyes water up. I held my forehead, smiling and shaking my head at the ground, I knew she said things like that to get a rise out of me, knowing my hesitance when it came to the subject. I wasn't fond of touch, either. I threw on the outfit on the left of her, black skinny jeans, a white t and a red hoodie. Of course, I had to perfect my look with my grey beanie, only, I can't find it anywhere. After a few minutes of searching through my drawers with my brows pulled together and a frown on my lips, Christina walks over, "What's wrong?"

"You know the beanie that Caleb got for me?"

"The grey one? Yeah,"

"I can't find it," I huff, glaring at my dresser as if it physically ate my hat. Christina links her arm with mine and sighs against my shoulder, "We can get another one,"

"No, we can't,"

"Okay," She says after a moment, "Well, let me do your makeup, I'm thinking gold jewelry and gold and black eyeliner, maybe a light bronze will lighten the bags under your eyes," I pull a smile for her, and let her grill me about the job interview and had an earful about why I didn't call her afterwards. She's working on my hair, weaving it into a long and intricate braid, "I'm sorry Chris, it didn't cross my mind, I was tired and eager to go home,"

"Well, you did work a full shift," Her fingers massage my scalp as she gently pulls and pins each hair in place, "Hey! Did you meet my friend? You know, Uriah?"

"Oh, yes, I did," I huff at her, my eyes narrowing at the mirror at the coy smile she gets,

"So?"

"So he was a jerk! And kept flirting with me! Does he have a girlfriend or something? Plus he's worse than your blabber mouth," She laughs at me,

"You love me! And I would have warned you, but you were in one of your moods,"

"I don't have any moods,"

"Yes, you do," She argues, a friendly smile on her face. Her hands reach over my shoulder, grabbing the chain crown she then inlays to my hair, pinning it in place so it trails down my braid. It all seems incredibly girly to me, but it kind of makes me feel better, and pretty, it's been rough for my emotions, the loss of my parents. And doing all of this lets me talk with my girlfriend, and lets her become a models make up artist for a little while. She puts the finishing touches of a necklace and earrings, red and gold. As I'm grabbing my wallet and figuring out which shoes to wear, she stops me and smiles, "So, don't freak out,"

"Chris?" I raise an eyebrow at her,

"But I bought you some shoes,"

"Are they stilettos?"

"God no," She says, "I don't want you to kill yourself," I grin at her, she knows me so well. "Anyway, I got them out of my car while you were in the shower,"

"When did you get them?"

"While you were working, I figured if you weren't going to call me, that you needed space. So I went shopping!"

"Okay, sounds fair enough, I really am sorry I didn't call you though,"

"Don't worry about it, just don't do it again," She chimes, leading me to the living room, where she holds out a box for me, inside are heeled high tops, with buckles and a zipper in the inside. They're all black. She starts speaking as I examine them, "I was looking and looking and couldn't find a damn thing that I know you'd wear, because I wanted something practical and a little flashy, you know? Something that draws more attention to your stunning look, and I saw these and I was sold. I got them for you, low enough that you'll be comfortable, but high enough to be heels, you can strut around in them at work too,"

"Thank you, Chris, it really means a lot, and they go with this outfit,"

"Does that mean you'll wear them and not shove them in the back of your closet?"

"Yes, I'll wear them, right now," I tell her, unzipping them and sliding them over my socked feet. They're more comfortable than I thought they would be, and I hug her. She smiles, "Okay, let's go." The drive there is filled with gossip and laughter, and it heals my soul, reminds me that the bleak and grim feeling that gripped me after my parents death wasn't what life was all about, that I didn't have to be an empty shell of a person just because they were gone. They would want me to be happy, it was what they told me every time I wanted to make a tough decision and went to them for help. They would have wanted to tell me never to forget them, but to never forget myself, I knew I would never be as kind or as selfless as them, and so did they. Maybe that was why they encouraged me to always branch out farther than the confines of the small town I grew up in, they moved here because of me. They would have told me to continue to be the amazing person they raised, to be creative, to chase that adventure that guided me.

I'll remember to be happy, I'll remember them as they were, kind, selfless, and quiet people who meant and still mean the world to me. I'll remember the laughter, and the smiles, the tender hugs and the hushed goodnights. Never the fights, never the few moments of dark that I mulled over too often. I'll be me, like they wanted.

 **So, to me, I was moving wayyy too fast through the plot line, and I was like, what could I do to stop it? Because I wasn't going to scrap anything, and then my boyfriends like, have him erase her memories. I was like, whaaaaaaaaat? Because doing that is incredibly complicated and requires immense attention to detail. So I tried that in this chapter, and I'm seeing what I can do to stitch it all back together with the plot line. - This chapter is a large mix of things, you get to see two different sides of Tris, one that is a normal girl and carefree, and another as she tries to put together all of the crazy stuff that's happening to her. I also wanted to touch down on the very girly and close relationship that Tris and Christina have, because developing a relationship between them is very important. But, if you have any questions** **don't be afraid to ask, just know that I can't tell you much about the future plot line, tell me what you think though!**


	7. My Heart Is A Storm

Appreciating clothing and the comfort of fabric is where the similarities of preference of shopping ends, between myself and Christina. Currently she is seated across from me, sipping on her mango passion fruit whatever smoothie and eyeing me like I hold the secret to all lifes meanings. I sigh at her, of course, she wants to know if I met any semi attractive guys last night while I have food in my mouth. Thank you pizza, for giving me an excuse to savor you and stall. It's not that I didn't meet anyone, quite the opposite, actually. She doesn't need to know that.

She crosses her arms at me, fingering the green straw at the lid of her drink, eyes narrowed as always. A smug smile spreads along her lips like a cat to bowl of creme. The wind today is miniscule and very light, but it is a bit chilly, the teachings of spring still clinging to the city. The sky couldn't be prettier, a deep waking blue, little cotton like fluff clouds chase each other through the atmosphere, at a slow pace but quick enough to watch. The sun is warm on my back, heating my hair, fighting the bumps that rise on my skin as I think about answering her. One person in particular stood out to me, only because I listened in, the music forcing me to fully grasp every word he said in that low and soothing voice of his. I would never admit who exactly he was, but I didn't see the harm in telling her there _was_ a guy.

I sigh, finished with everything on my plate, eyeing the pizza stall we had gone to, pondering on whether or not I should get another slice. Christina clears her throat and pulls her knees up to the table, leaning back in her chair lazily as her knees secure her. I run a hand through my hair and bite my lip, "Okay, there _was_ a guy-"

"I fucking knew it, was he hot? What did he look like? Was he nice-gentlemanly? How did you meet?"

"At the bar,"

"Okay,"

"And he was nice,"

"Ahuh,"

"And handsome,"

"Annnnnnd?"

"That was it," I say, smiling at the table, there was much more than that, but it was very unlike me to feel attracted to someone I just met, even if I had been thinking of them. Christinas jaw dropped, and she stared at me accusingly, hand slamming on the table and her eyes furious, "Beatrice Fucking Prior! What happened? You didn't exchange names _or_ numbers?"

"Names, yes,"

"What's his name?"

"That is disclosed information," Shock spreads across her face, and she stares at me for a moment, before she gives up and shakes her head at me. Snatching her drink from the table again she rises, looping her arm through all the bag handles, which were many, before she looks at me again. I sigh and stand as she says, "You know what, you need to get out more,"

"I work at a bar, Chris, I am now the very place people get-out to," I say back, watching as she rolls her eyes at me, closing her lips around her straw again. She has a habit of chewing her straws, "Look," I say, "Let's just agree to disagree that I won't talk about any of this relationship stuff? Yeah?"

"Mhm, whatever," She says, smirking at me as I pick up our trash and throw it away and recycle in the designated places. When I turn around, she's followed me and is holding out my two bags for me. Its an hour later of walking do my heels start to ache, and the sun start to hang lower in the sky, I don't mind either one. The sunsets here in the city are breathtaking, and blinding, painting the streets in its royal orange and gold glow, but reflecting off of each window, painting buildings white gold and polishing them. It's a surreal look for the windy city. I like it. If I had my camera with me, I might have taken a picture. I saw things most other people didn't and I dared to go places others were more than fearful of to get that perfect snap of another world. Christina smiles at me and grabs my free hand, pulling me along with her to the near entrance to the outdoor mall, she sits me down on a bench and sighs at me.

I give her a look as she vacantly stares out into the world, watching the people walk by, and the cars pass us in the street. Her silence unnerves me, and it's when she smiles at me sadly do I understand she wants to talk about my loss, "Are you okay?"

"I'm doing better,"

"Good, that's good," She mumbles, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really,"

"It's good to talk about it," She insists, if she weren't my friend, my frustration and sadness would eat me whole and make me explode on her, but instead I end up sighing at her. Looking away from her wide imploring eyes and out to the semi busy street, "There were so many things I never got to say to them," I begin, swallowing the lump in my throat and glaring as though my watering eyes would fear it, "And you never just-you're never prepared, one minute you have a complete loving family, and the next it's, just gone. And there's nothing you can do to get them back," I pause, drawing in a shaky breath, "There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, a freak accident that killed two wonderful people, and took out all the material memories with them." My glaring falters, as does my voice when her hand shoots around my shoulder, the wells of liquid pain flowing over my cheeks and down my face, the quiet tap as they fall onto my clothing. I manage to choke out to her, "That's the hardest part-I can't do- _anything_ about it," My fingers dig into her knee as she pulls me into a comforting hug. But it isn't comforting, not when I feel so empty, so useless.

Her hand slowly pets my hair, the other gently rubbing into my back as I confess everything I'll never get to say, "No goodbye, I never got to say that to them, I'll never get to hug my mom, or see dad again," stuttering helplessly in her arms, I know I'm probably annoying, that I should get my shit together, but it all just hurts, _so_ much. A hollow laugh escapes me, the lonely image of my brother, my too smart brother falling into a pit of addiction because he's lost everything too, comes to my mind intrusively. That cigarette to his lips, "And Caleb's given up, I don't know what to do anymore, Chris, the world sucks right now, I need help,"

"I'm here to listen if you need me,"

"I don't want to-"

"You're my sister Tris, you never take up my time," She hushes me, smoothing my hair and gripping me close to her. Eventually, the body shaking stops, and the empty starts to consume me, the pang in my chest is sharp and relentless, and I feel like a child crying in public. Ashamed at such an emotional display. The sun has sunk like a burning anchor behind the city skyline, the streaks of red and pink on the clouds a bright contrast against the purpling and bruising sky. I need to go home.

My house is empty, and just as I left it, smelling faintly of my shower and Christina's perfume. A heavy sigh works its way into my chest, but is never released, instead I weave my way around my kitchen island and place down the few groceries I picked up after the mall trip, the oven light my only source of vision. Slowly my hands work to organize the items and remove them from the bags, a strange feeling welling up in me. Along the lines of an urge, to throw something. Slowly and carefully, my palms settle on the counter, eyes falling shut as a warm feeling surges through me. My head suddenly swims, eyes shooting open only to see a fuzzy and consuming black, breath rushing suddenly from my lungs of lead, the world tilts again.

The world comes to in a slow blur, a focusing of a camera lense, green surrounds me, dark towering figures surround me, soft encasing me protectively, something flittering over my face, the soft gusts of wind teasing the small hairs around my face. My lungs take in one sudden deep breath and I shoot up, the butterflies covering my body startling and erupting from my clothes in a swirl of colors, entrancing me as I struggle slowly to my feet. A few lingering in my hair even as I reach up for them, and then I realize, I'm in a forest. My eyes narrow and eyebrows furrow, the muscles tensing on my face as I turn to the snap of a stick.

I almost wish I hadn't. There she stands, in her wedding dress, young and beautiful, hair slightly wild and eyes just as surprised as mine. Sheer joy rocks through me as I stumble closer, her body tensing as my tears fall for her, "Mom," I croak, and suddenly her warm embrace is all I feel, small, warm, protected.

I'm in her lap now, a little girl reading my favorite story with her, vanilla cinnamon candles lit around us in her personal study, a cream blanket around us in her favorite chair. The wood carved into various symbols she never explained to me, and the wolves, carved perfectly into the legs, into the back. She bounces her leg, smiling kindly at me, her white blonde hair I inherited from her falling over my shoulder as she looks at my fascinated face. I remember this, late at night I had a nightmare, and she read to me to calm me down. I turn to catch her face up close, to study her because I won't be able to. But she looks up, startled by something in the doorway. My own head whips and I'm blinded.

Heat encases me, uncomfortably, my clothes searing off, engulfed by the unforgiving, unfeeling and all consuming red around me. The air chokes me, and burns my skin, my eyes water as ashes fly into them, into my hair. Then the sound hits, and I'm in the fire, in the hallway of my family home with the pictures of us on the walls still. Panic becomes my blood, as a scream bursts my ears. Down the hall, I stutter, hesitant as things fall from the ceiling, the walls peeling and melting, the house screaming in its own way. "Mommy!" A child screams in fear.

My feet fly down that hallway faster than ever, my shoulder ramming into a door, splintering it and shattering my shoulder. I cry out, eyes squinting in pain, but more to the harsh of the flames. The room is nearly destroyed completely, save for a woman, and her little blonde child, "Mommy!" She screams in fear again, and I watch in horror as the dark haired woman catches on fire.

"Natalie!" The woman cries in such agony I fall to my knees, falling through the floor, watching the woman throw the girl out the window, away from the fire. Darkness engulfs me, wrapping me in a thick blanket of drowsiness and something heavy.

Ashes, are like room temperature flakes of snow that become powder beneath your fingers. They twitch, digging into the ground, touching warm wood, charred pieces of furniture. My body aches, my head throbs, yet still, I manage to open my eyes to a consumed house of foundation and blackened posts that once made up a beautiful building. My clothes are covered in a sad soot, in a thick grey, one that I could never wash off. I'm on my feet slowly, wincing at the weight. Then I'm walking, frowning at the destruction, fighting off the tears because this is familiar, this is personal, and deep.

I stop, standing still and staring at a shiny piece of metal. My fingers pinch the ashes, draining them through and revealing the chain, the metal glittering and dangling down the side of my hand. The rosary slowly swaying back and forth, a single gem in the epicenter. My finger runs over it, taking in the ridges of the carefully carved metal, of the cut gem, of the glaring chains that held it, cool in my palm as ash flittered down like grey butterflies from the sky.

I spun, stopping short as hands gripped me violently, nails digging into my arms as the horrified look of the burning woman stared me in the face. I screamed as she cupped my face, speaking in a language I didn't understand, and then, suddenly I did, without her lips moving her tears fell like black rivers of something haunting, her voice consuming all I was, "Beatrice no!"

I gasped, sitting up and hauling in air to my lungs, crawling away from my spot in the kitchen, dragging myself from the place of horrors. Eyes wide and lungs panting I stared at the ground as though, it was not my mind playing these tricks but instead something else. And then suddenly I cried, laying back on my floor and covering my face, the fear gone and replaced by a deep sadness. No, I really had lost everything.


End file.
